Blink Back To Let Me Know
by courag33
Summary: 'I watched him from where I sat primly on the headstone. He was crying.' Warnings: Character death, implied suicide, depression and triggers ?  One shot. First person. Kurt's point of view. I posted this on my Tumblr months ago.


I watched him from where I sat primly on the headstone.

He was crying. Not full-on hysterical crying but when the tears seem to fall silently down his cheeks all over the lapel of the pea-coat I had bought him last winter, the droplets leaving dark little marks in the fabric. He took occasional sharp intakes of breath but I could barely hear them over the sound of the wind rustling through the trees and the cars strolling over the rain-dampened street.

He was on his knees. I would have told him that he really shouldn't have been kneeling considering the wet grass would have gotten his jeans dirty and he never really knew how to do laundry properly but he would not have heard me anyways. He never really was good at basic chores. He usually was the one that worked, brought home money, and cooked dinner. I cleaned up afterwards. I liked doing chores. They were a good let out for me and my crazy emotions.

Chores and crying and making love to him was what I did best. I was frequently told I was a good lover. I knew exactly what he loved. I knew exactly what made him scream. I knew exactly how to love him. I knew him like the back of my hand. I miss touching him.

I wanted to hold him but he would not have felt me. He would not have felt the comfort that I would have been trying to transfer through to him. I just wanted to let him know that I am going to be fine. I just wanted him to smile for me, smile _at_ me. I just wanted him to stop crying. I wasn't that great. I wasn't worth his tears. I wasn't worth much of anything.

I raised my hand to wipe away a tear from his blotchy cheek but I thought twice and put my hand back down in my lap. It would have been no use. The tears would not have strayed. Oh, what I would have done to kiss him and hold him in my arms once last time. It's my fault that I can't anymore. I fucked it up.

"It's not your fault," I said pointlessly. He didn't move. He didn't react. He didn't even hear me. I've heard him talk to others. He thought it was his fault I'm dead right now, like he had been doing something wrong to hurt me all along. It wasn't his fault. I even stated that in the note I left him on the coffee table that explained that I couldn't go on anymore and that I already took a full bottle of pills. I even underlined it three times so he would understand. _It's not your fault. It's not your fault. It's not your fault. _

I remember the moment he found that paper. He dropped it. It floated gracefully to the ground. It looked like his heart had stopped beating for a spit second before horror filled his beautiful hazel eyes. I remember watching him, tears in my own eyes, as he sprinted into the bedroom. Seconds later, a scream sounded. I sat down on our couch where we had made love about a week prior to the incident and hugged my knees close to my chest. I didn't move from that seat. I didn't want to see his face right then. It would have hurt too much to see how broken up he was considering it was my entire fault he was broken up anyways.

"WAKE UP!" He cried, "FOR FUCK'S SAKE, KURT, PLEASE WAKE UP!"

I heard more tears but mostly silence for a few moments before: "Hello! I need help! My boyfriend just overdosed! He has no pulse! Please, help me!" He gave out our address before screaming, "PLEASE HURRY!"

I knew hurrying would do no help. It was clearly too late.

"Baby, I'm so sorry! Please don't leave me like this! I'm so sorry!"

_Don't be sorry. It wasn't your fault._

He made me happy. He made me smile when I thought I couldn't. He made me laugh. He made me feel loved but over the time we were together, I started to lose feeling. Outside, I was normal, carefree. Inside, I was dull and empty. I started asking myself, what's the point of living if I can't even feel anything? He didn't suspect a thing. I've heard him say that he was blind. He was wrong. I was just a really good actor. I remember telling everyone I knew growing up that I wanted to be just like those people on TV and on Broadway when I grew up. Then I got acquainted with reality. I ended up selling coffee in a small yet busy coffee shop.

I barely heard him say, "I'll always love you." His voice was so soft. I don't remember hearing it that soft, ever. I leaned in and kissed him on the top of his head. I closed my eyes to savor the moment. He didn't feel it but I did. I felt the warmth of his skin. I backed away just as he rose to his feet, backing away from the grave, the one marked with the name _Kurt Hummel_. He tried to wipe as much dirt off of his knees as possible but it was no use, those stains will never come out.

"If you need me," He swallowed the lump in his throat, "I won't be far."

He turned and walked back to his car without a second glance. I stood up.

"I'll miss you," I said a bit louder.

He stopped suddenly. Everything went deathly silent. I blinked at him as he turned around slowly. He looked around, "Hello?"

He heard me.

I watched him look around a few more times. I didn't say anything else. He looked right past me before shaking his head and turning back around and continuing to his car. Next thing I knew, tears began streaming down my cheeks as I watched his car drive away.


End file.
